I Never
by Rhys Quinn
Summary: Draco's and Pansy's thoughts throughout the day as they prepare for a date.


Title: I Never

Author: Rhys Quinn

Summary: Draco's and Pansy's thoughts throughout the day as they prepare for a date.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter in any way, shape, or form. I also do not own We Will Rock You, the show described towards the end of the story.

--- means a POV change

* * *

It's really hard to see, but across the street is a woman and her son. Both are freckled, skinny, and blonde. Well, they look blonde. I'm so far away from them that it's kind of hard to tell, and I'm not about to forsake my seat in this crappy little 'high-class' restaurant to go check. 

Anyway, the woman is probably in her late twenties. The kid looks about five. The woman is angry, and she's got the boy by his arms. She's yelling at him and trying desperately not to shake him. You can tell: her knuckles are white and her arms are really tense. The boy's just crying.

I'm suddenly reminded of my mother and how we've done that before.

Not that my mother doesn't love me. She loves me like a mother should. Sometimes I just have to question why.

I think she loves me because I was her only respite from my father. He's very obsessive with certain aspects of his life. If you weren't a part of those aspects, you were a shadow meant to disappear on cue. It really sucked to be a shadow, and I was shadow number one.

Okay, pan right, back to mom and kid. Giant alligator tears are oozing out of her eyes. I mean 'oozing' quite literally, too. It's turning her makeup into skin-toned mud. She still looks pretty mad. I bet she'd smack him like my mother would smack me if she wasn't in public.

Real nice, lady.

But wait, look! She's pulling him into a hug. Turns out that the kid was lost, and she spent the better part of twenty minutes looking for him. She's picking him up, and they go to an ice cream vendor where they both get chocolate ice cream cones, no nuts, spoons, please!

And now I'm jealous of a little snot-nosed brat that got lost.

---

I'm in a dress shop, one of those toxic glittery ones that Muggle girls frequent so much. There was this gorgeous pastel green sun dress in the window, and I just had to try it on. Mil says I look great in pastels.

Sitting in a glitzy little butterfly chair is a bald man, trying to be inconspicuous but failing miserably. He's wearing a grey suit that goes very well with the inside scheme of blues and silvers. Unfortunately, that's the only thing that goes well with the place. He's got a shiny bald-spot, mousy brown hair where he's got hair, a gaudy red and green tie, and yellow teeth. Obviously a smoker who doesn't want to be here.

He's clearing his throat and rapping on the door of a dressing room. The occupant, presumably his daughter, asks him to wait a minute, or at least make himself useful and find that maroon skirt-and-shirt set in a size smaller. He gives her an ultimatum of five more minutes or she'll have to pay for her damn spree herself. His shiny little bald spot is beet-red.

I grin as I realize that I've done that before with my own father. I can remember twisting and wrapping him around my tiny little pinky until he couldn't tell me no if his life depended on it. Of course, he was never happy about it, but Princess always gets her way. He probably just wanted me to shut up.

O, the joys of being the child of successful Slytherin alumni.

With twenty seconds to spare, a pretty girl with shiny blue-black hair (dyed!) comes sweeping from the room, modeling a sky blue dress for her father. He frowns a bit, and he looks annoyed by her theatrics. Suddenly he smiles, and he tells her just how beautiful she is.

They leave the store after paying out, and you can see the girl kiss her father on the cheek through the decorated shop window. I'm trying my hardest not to sob into the black miniskirt I'm holding.

My father never said that to me.

---

Right now, I'm sitting with Blaise and trying to enjoy my cup of coffee. It's loaded with cream and sugar because I can't drink it black without gagging. Blaise keeps trying to get me to put cinnamon in it. What freak puts cinnamon in his coffee?

Blaise asks me how things have been going with that brunette, what was her name? I cringe as I tell him that it ended a month ago. However, I don't tell him that I had a tryst with Hermione Granger in Harry Potter's bed. Or that Harry Potter reportedly slept in that bed when he came back to his hotel room. Revenge is sweet.

Not that I have a thing for Hermione Granger. In fact, I couldn't hate her more than I do now. It was just that, for that one brief moment in time, I hated the Golden Boy more than his Mudblood friend. When I left the hotel room and saw Granger's sadistic smile . . . It felt so odd. I was happy to hurt Potter, but disgusted that I would sleep with a Bloodless Gryffindor tramp.

Yes, Granger is a tramp in my mind. She may not sleep with every guy she meets, but she's not above cheating on the guy she's with. Just like that brunette.

Still, Blaise can guess that something happened. He's grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

I can see that he's been examining me closely throughout all the small talk, so I take rather morbid interest in my drink. I'm not as thirsty as I was when we first came in. Blaise takes a packet of sugar from the black dish on the table in a nonchalant way, and tells me that I've changed.

Where have I heard that before?

I slowly bring myself to make eye contact with him. Blaise doesn't bat an eye. Has he been staring the entire time?

I think he has.

He's now stirring his drink, and I take a sip from mine. It's so cold it's undrinkable now. I'm obliged to respond without my distraction to take my interest. I ask how I've changed as I dump a small spoonful of cinnamon into my drink.

He tells me I've thinned, and I look a bit pale. There are bags under my eyes that are purple as bruises. I'm quiet, he says, not so arrogant. He also adds, in a cautious voice, a bit defeated in manner. I frown. What the hell does he mean by that?

Then he tells me he likes it, that he wants to be friends.

I offer to pay the bill, but Blaise won't let me.

---

For some reason beyond my comprehension, I'm standing in the magazine aisle of a drug store. I've got this one fashion magazine in my hands. It's really quite a pathetic read; unoriginal at best.

I'll bet it's why I've got "Magix' Broomstick" stuck in my head. It's this really horrible, trashy song filled with enough sexual innuendo to make your head spin. The song's only saving grace is Magix, the singer. Merlin, is he hot! Soft black hair, the most beautiful smile in the world, grey eyes, eyeliner . . . . I think I just sighed out loud.

So, I'm flipping through the pages, unwilling to admit that I'm just the tiniest bit lost in this gigantic city. One picture catches my eye, so I pause long enough to look. There's this chick who kind of looks like me with her blonde hair pulled into grubby pigtails. She has this funny, unhappy, pouty look on her face as she poses in her hideous school uniform.

I've worn that before, down to the knee-length skirt and tacky tie.

The article's about school violence, boring, so I flip to the next page. Same article, this time on a black and yellow page. A photo catches my eye. The picture takes up a full three quarters of the page, and I wish it was smaller. A severe looking teen is laying on a hospital bed, gown pulled up to show of a four inch gash on her thigh that's been stitched up. The caption says she was stabbed by her friend who thought she was fooling around with the ex-boyfriend.

My leg hurts now. Stupid imagination.

---

I'm looking at myself in a mirrored window right now. Blaise's words are still fresh in my mind, and I'm feeling very self-conscious. I'm not _that _thin, am I? I turn a bit to get a side view. I wonder if there's anyone on the other side of the window wondering just what kind of freak am I?

The first time I've said hello to myself, and I can't say I care for it too much.

I need to get back to the hotel and get cleaned up. I've got a date at seven tonight, but I've got my doubts. Blaise said I've changed . . . What if she doesn't like change? What if she'll hate me?

It's not like I became a whole new person. My ears are be pierced, and the tattoo gone now- the spell's still there, but at least I don't have to look at it anymore! I like to wear black, like always, but I wear blue and white as well. I got rid of most of my old clothes. Green is no longer an option.

I don't talk as much, seeing as I've usually got my headphones in. The Muggle world isn't so bad once you hear the music. No bagpipes in rock bands! Country sucks now.

I've never realized just how nice - expensive, in other words - my hotel is! Hello Mr. Doorman.

---

I'm sitting in the bath, my dress hanging neatly on a hook. The bubbles, which go clear up to my neck, smell strongly of vanilla and sugar, and the water is nice and warm. I've pulled my hair up with a clip to keep it dry.

I lift a leg out of the water to see if I need to shave. Nope.

I look to the dress.

Mil says I look good in pastels.

The water is swirling down the drain as loudly as inhumanly possible. I'm sponging myself dry on one foot, hoping that my balance will hold out long enough for me to get the other leg out of the tub. It does, and I'm free to get dressed. There's not a single puddle on the floor.

My new dress slides on, feeling so good and cool on my skin. I pull out my makeup kit. Foundation, liner, shadow, mascara, lips, powder, but no blush because my cheeks are usually pink enough. Finished. Now I'm examining myself in the partially fogged up mirror.

Maybe I should have gone with the pink dress?

---

She's three minutes late, and I'm panicking. I told her the date was tonight at this theater, didn't I? The concrete bench I'm sitting on is poor comfort for me. All it's done so far is make my legs go numb. Seriously. My legs don't want to move at all, even though it feels like needles are being jabbed into my legs by vengeful house elves.

Where is she? I swear I'll . . . I'll kiss her if she shows up.

Twenty minutes late, and I'm now staring at the backside of the star of the show we're going to see. For some reason, the poster advertising the show has a picture of its star from the back, one arm raised into the air, hundreds of screaming, mostly middle-aged, fans going wild.

It's some musical that she heard of, she just had to see it. The star kind of looks like me. Well, we're built the same way. I don't know what his front looks like, but the back view looks pretty familiar.

I guess I stared at myself in the window a little too long today.

At least it's not formal dress. I hate formal dress. Everyone around me is lounging about in their jeans and tees. One person is even running about in cotton shorts! For some reason, she's got glowsticks, and she's passing them out to everyone who'll be sitting in the front rows. She gives me one and tells me to use it during the finale. I ask if I have to. She says no, but I won't be able to help myself once I hear the star sing.

I laugh and ask for another one.

A minty green dress and a blonde ponytail comes into view. I stand up, armed with my glowsticks. She's so beautiful . . . and I'm self-conscious again. I wish I had a mirror right now. Black jeans, long-sleeves, and grey over-shirt? What in the world was I thinking? How will I look with someone like her?

Apparently pretty darn good, because she's got her arms wrapped around me and we're getting jealous looks from all sides.

I can't help but kiss her!

I Love you.

I hand her the glowstick and a ticket.

---

I forgot just how good he looks in black. I'm getting this funny feeling in my stomach, like butterflies are attacking my insides with machine guns. There's a frog in my throat, or maybe it's a toad.

I didn't do very well in that horrible animal care class.

I never felt like this in school, even when he proclaimed over and over that he loved me. I just never could believe him. Besides, who finds true love in school?

Great, the legs are going flimsy.

Apologizing to him for showing up late - I got lost again - completely slips my mind as I wrap my arms around him in the largest hug I can manage. I stare up at him, and I see that he's staring down at me. He's lowering his head, so I close my eyes. The legs are useless now. His lips press against mine, and I'm totally his.

He breaks away from the kiss, looks at me, and says three words in the sweetest voice. The moments only tarnished slightly by the plastic tube he hands me. Apparently, I'll need it later because the star's phenomenal.

I have the funny feeling we may not catch the entire show tonight . . .

* * *

No, I do not know why I had Draco contradict himself when he was with Blaise. Maybe he did realize that what he did was considered cheating, but was only thinking of the actions of Hermione and his little brunette friend. 

Not exactly one of my better works, but I think it was okay. Please review!


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